


Gallop Fast Enough, And Follow The Howl To My Heart

by TheAllShipperKAZ2Y5



Category: Teen Wolf TV (CW Network)
Genre: Actual wolf!Derek, Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Angry Kissing, Angry Sex, Angsty sterek, Awkward Kissing, Grumpy Derek, Hair Pulling Kink, Kissing It Better, M/M, Park Ranger Derek, Park Ranger Stiles, Pining, Ranger!Derek, Ranger!Stiles, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Stable Sex, Stiles is Derek's Anchor, Top Derek Hale, Wolf Sanctuary, Wolf!Derek, Wolf/Horse Reserve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:06:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAllShipperKAZ2Y5/pseuds/TheAllShipperKAZ2Y5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is the owner of and a Ranger for the Hale Wolf Sanctuary, specializing in preserving wolves and re-building the four-legged population. Laura has a habit of doing things without his consent, and Cora likes to laugh at him on Skype.</p><p>Or, the one where Stiles joins the Ranger Force and develops an affection for a silver eyed wolf dubbed 'Sourwolf' by said truly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Running With Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek finds out the reason he almost lost an eye to a saddle rack, and Stiles finds out the reason for his next 500 awkward boners.

Derek can hear Laura in the reception office, heartbeat rising as she argues over the phone about the latest delivery of cattle. The pack of wolves owned by the Hales are fed live kill twice a week, and dead kill the rest, but their local supplier is apparently 'running low on cattle'. Derek doesn't need to hear his heartbeat to hear he's lying. He just wants to sell his cattle to food markets, not over-vicious dogs. He must see it as a waste of his 'fine bred' hunks of meat. Derek couldn't care either way. Not his division. 

He's carrying a heavy cutting saddle as he walks past one of the main arenas, making a frustrated sound low in his throat. He'd just had it raked smooth last night before shut-down, and granted it's well into opening hours, but it looks like Laura let a whole  _herd_  of wild horses in there and just let them go nuts while he was out picking up another lot of chaff for the horses, and booking a farrier visit for Duke. He voices a calm death threat to his sister and a vow that it's the last time he rakes the arena, knowing she can hear him. His response is a distanced snort and he can almost _feel_ her eyes rolling.

Derek notices a lot of things. Laura insists it's the only reason she keeps him around. Derek knows differently. For instance, he notices the sharp scent of new leather, picks up on how the barn cat Dusty is hunting something out in the hand-grazing square, notices the dripping of the tap in the feed room. So it's not a surprise when he walks into the airy barn and instantly notices the new nameplate. It's the stall next to his own horse Chevrolet, and it's new and metallic and bitter with polish. It reads a simple Flopsy and that alone has Derek offput and practically gagging. 

That stall has been empty for almost a year and a half now, used only once in that time when they had a hacker turn up during a storm needing shelter until the weather changed, boarding his horse in the otherwise unoccupied stall. A horse named Twister used to reside in it, a chunky crossbred with an attitude worse than Derek's. Danny, one of their ex-Rangers had been in charge of the grumpy little shit.

It had started to rain when they were out on a head count, and they'd had to hastily head back and shut up to avoid getting caught down in the marshy bit by the ford. Either Danny hadn't bolted the stall fully, or Twister had done his yearling-days trick of unbolting it himself; because in the morning he was gone.

Four days later and while out to collect the skittish tawny-gold boy-wolf Jesse, Derek had found Twister. Or rather, what remained of Twister. Danny had been inconsolable, and quit the next day after they had Twister buried out in the memorial field. Since then, the stall had been empty and the Sanctuary had been one Ranger down. Twister had been one of their best horses, snappy and taking no shit from the wolves who got too close, quick to respond and fast to run.

He hadn't been the first horse they'd lost, and he almost undoubtedly wouldn't be the last. Danny had blamed himself though, and Derek knew better than to stop him leaving. This line of work was hard at best and required lots of skill even though it seemed easy. If Danny couldn't cope with the loss of a ranch horse, then Derek could cope with letting him leave. 

The new nametag was unexpected and unexplained, and Derek hated those two U's the most. He knew of everything that went on in the yard, and this one strip of engraved metal was already driving him nuts. Strolling into the tack room, he almost got his eyes taken out by a new saddle rack up on the wall by Chevy's. It's empty, but it's still there, and Derek spends a solid three minutes eyeing it like it personally stabbed him with a fork. It's black to match the other racks, and the scent of fresh paint is still tangy and clogging in the air. The new nameplate and the new saddle rack suggests once again Laura did something without his permission, and bought another horse.

That is of course how they ended up with Ithuriel four years ago. Derek had come home and gone into the barn to open Chevy's top door and scream in a very unmanly way when a huge, hair covered white head had headbutted him in excitement. Derek wanted him gone, but Laura had pleaded the gypsy horse's case and now Ithuriel worked as a hauler, moving logs and boulders and pulling things around. The Sanctuary worked like that. Laura made choices without consulting Derek, and the two fought fang and claw until one trumped the other.

Still though, Derek was going to argue 'Flopsy's' case until he died of exhaustion. No way on earth was he letting a horse with a name like that into his barn. Twister had only earnt his name from their trail run, where the horse had proceeded to promptly throw Laura by spinning in a circle instead of striking to canter like requested. 

Derek was unashamed to admit that he'd instantly turned to the owner and handed over the money, relishing in the sight of his sister picking herself from the dirt with a scalded expression. 

Dumping the saddle onto the assigned rack, Derek turned on his heel and headed back towards the reception office, where Laura was sitting at her desk, scrolling through an Alaskan wolf breeding programme, humming thoughtfully. Derek pushed open the door and let his right spur chink against the metal doorstop, making his sister look up with an expectant expression. "I'm heading out on head-count in fifteen. Am I taking a second or is it just me?" he asked, leaning against the door, crossing his ankles and folding his arms. Laura waved him off, holding up a clipboard.

"Just you, Grumpy. Don't forget to mark down the kill count, wolves on sighting and locations. Also, Talia's collar is acting up. Check it, make sure it tracks okay until we can get Deaton out on Sunday".

Derek stiffened at the mention of Talia, taking the clipboard from Laura. Talia was a beautiful chestnut coloured wolf with a dark muzzle and dark paws, named after their mother who died in the Hale House Fire. Talia was a sweet wolf who liked to prowl along the edges of the preserve now and then, stalking alongside the horses and generally being more pet than wolf. But Talia has a habit of getting into trouble, and smashing her collar on a rock or something wouldn't be the first time they've been in a panic over her.

Derek just nods, and turns away. It's almost 10am, and he has to pass through those gates at no later than 12, so there's no time to plait Chevrolet's mane. He can only grab the floor-length sheet of silk, twist and roll it, bobble it and then hastily tack up, cantering through the gates with the clipboard strapped to his calve and both stirrups uncinched. He stayed like that until they reach the bridge that crosses the small stream, before he lets Chevy slow to a walk and takes the time to adjust his stirrups before shoving his heels down and ploughing Chev onwards again.

It doesn't take long to find the pack. All Derek has to do is clatter Chevrolet scatteringly up one of the flat points in the canyon, throw his head back and howl. A mixed response of howls comes from his left. It takes Derek three minutes to write down all the needed information, four to find the pack, and two hours to finish the rest of the charts, corner Talia and assess her collar before he swings his mount for home. The pack is looking good. The two pups born late spring are healthy, even if the runt looks a little mangy. Trails of pawprints coat the edges of the canyon and scatter around the forest, which shows the pack are keeping to their routine hunting grounds.

Also good.

Nikkita and Brenton's injuries have healed over nicely, and Bren is no longer sulking with his sister. Everything is good. There's fresh blood spatter by the ford, which means the live cow Laura released into the reserve this morning is history, and the pack all have full stomachs. Derek swings his horse for home, and canters pretty much the entire way back. Chevy's a big boy. He can handle the exercise. Derek hangs the clipboard up on the wall outside the barn and stretches, swinging his left leg back so that Chevrolet spins on his hocks and backs up into the barn. With a few hours to spare until he and Laura head out to fix the fencing by the gorge, Derek indulges himself and hands Chevy over to Isaac who smiles shyly at him.

To be trusted with Derek Hale's horse is like having an all-access VIP pass to MI6. Turning away to the sounds of Chevy's hooves chiming loudly off the concrete Derek heads to Ithuriel's stall, slipping on the huge headcollar and leaving the stallion just outside his stall while he picks up the glossy black and white set of western GP tack. He heads for stall 4, where a flood-light bright white head shoves over to greet him. 

With Novak and Ithuriel ready, Derek mounts up and leads both of them into the (not so) freshly raked arena. It's been almost a fortnight since Derek did some training with Ithuriel, and it simply won't do. Not when working with wild wolves that eat things like horses if given the chance. Ithuriel could easily kill one just by sitting on it, kicking it or even barging into it. But the aim is to  _not_ kill the wolves unless a human life is about to be taken. Horses are a tragic expense and Derek mourns each one lost, but he'd rather a replaceable horse be taken than the life of a human.

Derek simply holds the lead-rope to Ithuriel's head-collar as he nudges Novak into a trot, the overly dainty Arabian stallion practically tip-toeing his way around the arena. Ithuriel keeps pace at his regular stomping flop, the kind he does when he knows this is just exercise and he can afford to be a lazy lump of fat. Albeit a sweet lump of fat. Not even fat, really. Just big-boned. 

Derek's just nosing Novak into a half-pass across the arena to test how well Ithuriel can still copy, when a Beacon Hills Police cruiser pulls in through the main gates, ploughing bravely up the dust track, towing one of the Hale trailers. That makes Derek pause, letting Novak flounce into a spanish walk while he turns, eyeing the garage barn with confusion. Then he remembers the new tack rack and the nameplate, and figures Laura must've bought a police horse, and had them bring it using one of their trailers.

Which, okay. Derek isn't  _as_ mad as before. Still mad. Highly so. But police horses are good for this line of work. Huge, sturdy, 100% bombproof. Derek keeps working Novak into that extravagent spanish walk until the cruiser pulls up right next to the C fence of the arena, and Derek pulls him to a halt, Novak snorting beneath him. Sheriff Stilinski gets out of the cruiser, and confusion practically neon-signs him. The Sheriff takes a moment to look around, taking off his stetson and rubbing at his head while Derek throws the leadrope across Ithuriel's back then nudges Novak to the fence, Ithuriel staying where he was put.

Derek walked Novak right up to the fence until the horse had his chest pressed against the wood and his head right next to the Sheriff's, front hooves on the raised sand that lined the bottom of the fence, hind ones in the 'path' just aside to it, putting him at an angle. The Sheriff looked up, undecidedly huffing for a moment, looking around again then squinting up at Derek. "This the Hale Wolf Sanctuary?" it's a pure question, with a puzzled undertone. Derek nodded. "Yes sir. I'm Derek Hale". The news seems to confuse the Sheriff even further, eyes flicking around. 

Derek understands.

Until you get to the gate that leads to the reserve, the Sanctuary looks like a normal horse farm. Three barns, outdoor arenas, grazing fields. He watched the Sheriff's eyes go from the fields to the barns, from Novak to Ithuriel, to the sleek, glossy black Camaro parked by reception, his gaze going back up to Derek. Before the Sheriff could talk, Derek offered a half-smile. "Doesn't look it, does it? We keep the horses for Ranger work, Sir. They're easier to use in the reserve than cars. The Camaro is my personal car, work ones are in that second barn. Novak here was an unexpected, risky purchase, and Ithuriel back there is the hauler of the reserve."

This seemed to go OK with the Sheriff, who reached up to pat Novak's cheek. "I had my doubts. You look more like a fancy stables than a Ranger reserve, but this is some nice looking horseflesh you have here. Speaking of, I gotta delivery in the back." He gestured behind him to the trailer, that had been silent since it had pulled up. Derek nodded, swinging out of the saddle. "Yes sir. I'll help you unload".

Novak and Ithuriel stay where they've been placed as Derek easily vaults the high fence, ignoring the impressed look it earns and helping lower the ramp, backing off as the Sheriff goes in, and backs 'Flopsy' out.

Derek is dismayed, annoyed, and irate.

Flopsy is  _pretty._ Like, belongs in a painting pretty. It's not that Derek doesn't like pretty horses. Hell, he likes 2000 pounds of goodlooking pelt as much as the next rider, but pretty horses distain him. They don't belong in reserves. Pretty horses tend to be pampered, less roughened to the job, more likely to resort to natural instincts and ignore the rider when faced with a wolf. Let alone a pack. Novak is pretty, but he's an exception. A risk that turned out to be as good as any other choice Derek could have picked.

They'd been looking for a horse to replace a culled one when Derek had seen Novak being worked in a paddock, unbitted. Derek's rule had been nothing pretty, nothing dainty and nothing high-strung. He wanted docile, plain, bombproof. Of course, Laura had thrown an absolute fit when he'd met her back at the reserve with the prettiest damn horse she'd ever seen, but Derek had proven Novak's case. He was fast under the bit, could sleep in a wolf den and more than knew when to run.

He'd also spat back at Laura that it was Novak or the chunky, rather unsightly old chestnut a few farms down.

Laura had shut up fast and boxed Novak, hastily singing his praises.

Flopsy wasn't as dainty as Novak, but hell, he was everything Derek didn't want. But he doesn't say that as the Sheriff strips the horse of his trailer gear, revealing a blueish coat with thick hanks of mane and a fluffy tail, and soulfull blue-black eyes with a cute muzzle. A sleek barrel, with rather short but slim legs, a high wither and an arched neck all mark down that Flopsy has good breeding, and that's even worse. Good breeding means the horse is extra pampered, extra human-dependant.

Everything Derek doesn't want.

"Stiles will be over with his tack later. He had to go get a strap replaced or something" the Sheriff huffs, giving Flopsy a slappy pat to the shoulder. It's all Derek can do not to offer the Sheriff a refund and shove the damn horse back into the trailer. Clearly, Flopsy is  _not_ a police horse. Not even close. 

Laura will die tonight. Slowly, in agony, begging for his mercy and admitting her stupidity. 

Instead, he accepted the rope and balefully led Flopsy through the barn, the Sheriff following with an armful of rugs, boots, bridles, headcollars and every other piece of tack known to the western man. Once Flopsy was busily tearing into a haynet and the Sheriff had unhitched the trailer and driven off, Derek went on the hunt.

For his sister.

He found Laura in one of the back rooms, comparing bone samples. It's obvious she knows why he's here when she shelves the samples and backs away from anything breakable, holding up her hands with a cocky "Hear me out". Derek's impatient, pissed off and not really in the generous mood, but he grants her time because he really doesn't want to have to clean up the mess if a fight breaks out in a room filled with glass jars. 

"We've been short-handed since Danny left, and I figured we could really use the help. Twist's stall had been empty for yonks, and we really could deal with the extra help. I figured it was time to move on, and-"

Derek doesn't hear the rest of her words because he's too confused. Extra help? Short handed since Danny? Flopsy is a fucking horse, for christs sake. It's like Laura expects the damn thing to start filing pawprint charts. Laura rambled on for another minute or so, until Derek held up a hand. 

" _What?_ "

Laura shifts, ticking. Her brows furrow and slight wariness mingled with confusion edges her words when she finally talks.

"I hired another Ranger".

 

 

Derek is in the barn when Stiles arrives, with a glare dark enough to turn someone to stone, furiously but gently grooming Duke while the stallion buries his muzzle in a water bucket, thankful for the cold relief of the summer heat. An old, beat-up looking jeep slips into the tiny parking lot and a scrawny teenager falls out of the divers side, cursing. Derek slowly raises one eyebrow, and even Duke has raised his head to judge the new arrival.

Flopsy nickers happily, and Derek fights the urge to childishly yell at the horse to shut up. Everything about today has spoilt Derek for the rest of the week. After a very lengthy argument/discussion with Laura about how Stiles drove over for a test in the arena and how she sent him home with a trailer to bring Flopsy over ("YOU DID WHAT?! Do you have any fucking idea just how STUPID you are sometimes?!") and how they now apparently have a new Ranger.

Derek could walk right over there, fire him on the spot and walk away and neither 'Stiles' nor Laura could do anything about it. 

But he doesn't. 

Instead he settled for back-brushing a checkerboard pattern onto Duke's ass while Stiles lopes his way up into reception. It's Derek's chance, and he takes it. Checking the handgun in his thigh holster, he unclipped the shank and hastily grabbed Duke's bridle, thankful that all horses have been taught to open their mouths for the bit instead of having to fight the stallion to get him to open up.

He's sneaking a tacked up Duke around the back entrance of the barn when Laura's too-sweet too-happy voice calls his name out shrilly, and then she and Stiles appear in the doorway, met with a frozen Derek and Duke's ass as the stallion halts sharply to avoid bumping into his handler. Laura fake coos, her grin manical. "Aw, look at him. So eager to get out there already. You'd swear he didn't get to do it thrice a day".

Derek shoots her the finger as he pretends to cinch Duke's girth higher. Thankfully, Duke puts up with his frustrated fumbling. Stiles, meanwhile, just stands there and gawps. Because what else can you do when a guy who looks like he just stepped out of an NSFW Bad Boy fiction is less than 15 foot away from you?

Derek's nose twitched slightly, the scent of mild arousal flitting through the powerful scent of horse and straw and leather, and with an inward growl he yanked down the cinch on the girth and dropped the saddle flap, gripping the reins like a lifeline. Laura was practically purring, her smile slow and sly. "De? Why don't you loop Duke up and wait for Stiles to tack up too? You can take him on a rope of the reserve and get to know him a little".

Derek fixed his bright, silver gaze on her and while mentally tearing her limb from limb, watched Stiles shuffle off back towards the jeep. Once he was out of earshot, Laura dropped the fake sweetness and pointed a finger at him. "You," she began, narrowing her eyes, "will be kind to Ranger Stiles and will ensure he is not mauled to death by a wolf,  or I will personally ensure your castration. Painfully, awake, slowly."

It was a threat Derek knew she would at least try and carry out, but all the same he snapped at her with his canines, eyes flaring a glowing red before the sight of Stiles lugging a black and blue western saddle and bridle towards the barn made him slink back into his human form, and he scowled instead as he knotted Duke's reins on one of the hitching posts, letting the dun stallion sink his muzzle into another haynet while he waited.

Laura gave him one final sickeningly sweet smile before petting Stiles on the shoulder and flouncing back off to the office to do her damn job and log all of the information Derek had charted that morning. Stiles stood there dumbly for a moment, still gawking at where Derek was standing, before Derek slowly raised an eyebrow at him, and it seemed to kick the teen into gear, because he high-tailed it for where a shaggy blue head was sticking over the stall door next to the closed dutch-bolted stall of Chevrolet.

With the idle thought that Isaac must have already hosed off his horse, Derek meandered over to the stall while Stiles began to tack up Flopsy, opening the dutch bolt and looking up as almost invisible in the darkness of the stall, Chevrolet raised his head from his haynet and nickered, the sound of rustling straw welcoming as the stallion made his way over to his owner. Derek smiled, an honest, happy smile as he offered a peppermint to his horse.

Chevy stuck his head out into the daylight, his wet forelock in a shoulder-length plait, the same as his mane, his already glossy coat sleek with just a slight damp sheen to it. As his horse snuffled up the offered mint, Derek stroked his muzzle, relishing in the silky feel of horse hair, internally grumbling to his stallion as he waited for the new Ranger to hurry the fuck up already.

A minute or two later the irregular clopping of horseshoes on concrete made Derek look up. Every horse in this barn was at least 18hh, and skeletally large. Even Novak, who was slim and dainty, made up for it in height. Each horse was calm, docile, quick to respond and trained for every situation. They walked steadily, with regular, thumping hoof-falls.

Flopsy?

Derek wanted to shove straight back in the stall, demand Stiles ride another horse, and ship the damned creature back to wherever he came from.

The blue roan was small and compact, no more than 15.8hh. He was jittery, he moved too much, and he kept tossing his head as he walked. That was a trait Derek was willing to ignore, considering Sherlock and Yanksee did it now and then, but the jitters, the stamping and the over-energy Flopsy had was simply not going to sit well. With anyone, canines or no.

 His eyes flitted from Derek to Chevrolet's huge, refined head and he scattered sideways, eyes blowing wide.

"Bloody _hell._ Is that a horse or a damn  _tank_?!" he questioned, voice a few pitches higher that usual and Derek gave a soft grunt in response, watching Chevrolet shove forwards gently against his stall door to get a closer look at the new arrival, head turning to the side to see clearly. Stiles inched further away, hiding not so subtly behind Flopsy, who seemed equally as intimidated by Chevy.

"He's real pretty lookin' though" Stiles responded sincerely, and though Derek scowled at his stallion being described as 'pretty' for was forced to agree with the compliment. Chevrolet was a mix of Spanish and heavy horse blood, with a tiny patch of Anglo-Arabian in there somewhere. It gave him an immense height in the 21+hh range, a huge bulk of muscle, thick bone structure but also slimness in the joints and legs, a daintiness in the face. The Anglo blood had rid him of the roman nose and huge forehead that most Spanish breeds suffered from. Chevrolet had the long, fine legs of the lighter blood and had thankfully missed out on the unsightly, rather flat hooves of the heavy blood. 

He was good looking, certainly.

Turning away, Derek led Duke out into the sunshine, heading him for the mounting block. While he good easily get on  Duke without it, it was kinder to the horse' spine and less of a waste of energy to just use the block. He let go of the reins as he walked up the steps, Duke obediently sidling up alongside the block and stopping when the saddle was in line with Derek. Derek swung a leg over the western leather, settling comfortably and using his legs to twist Duke around and clear room for Stiles to mount up too.

It took a while. Flopsy wasn't the type of horse to stay sill long enough for gangly, awkward, equally as flailing Stiles to mount.

It happened eventually. 

Stiles' eyes are on the thigh holster strapped tight, the duty belt with a blade in it, and the barely visible outlines of some form of curly tattoo on Derek's back from under his shirt. Poor Flopsy is trotting, Stiles posting up and down quickly to try and catch up with the stupidly long legs of the stupidly large horse with the stupidly attractive rider in front of him. Thankfully, Derek slows down as they reach the reserve gates. Just enough to let Stiles catch up, because then he's sitting deep in the saddle, hips driving forwards-

And wow, _he-llooo_ there dirty thoughts.

And then hello there self-punishment because watching a guy push a horse into canter should give you  _any_ dirty thoughts. 

Yet lo behold, here he is with dirty thoughts in his mind and the sudden realization that he's also way behind Derek, because Flopsy and he are still doing that manic, frantic trot. Cursing softly, Stiles dug his heels in and let himself be tugged back by G-Force as Flopsy shot into a fast canter, doing his little best to catch up with Derek, who stayed ahead. The reserve was actually pretty, like a more compact version of Yellow Stone Park. Thankfully without the bears.

Although, Stiles had yet to see any wolves. Which was both a good and bad thing, depending on how you viewed it. They hadn't reached the bridge yet, which was apparently 'off limits' to the wolves. A large semi-circle from one fence to the other marked with Alpha male pee samples collected from the nearest zoo, which kept the wolves from going beyond their own territory. 

Stiles just called it a pee-field. His version of a force-field.

Nobody had been amused bar him.

Tragic, really. His natural talents were wasted on this world and it's mundane inhabitants.

Derek was speeding up a little, and poor Flopsy was galloping now. Albeit a slow gallop, but still. Derek's horse was hardly cantering. Leaning forwards in the saddle, Stiles urged Flopsy on faster, and kept pace behind Derek until they broke from the treeline and the sound of hooves on forest floor changed to the ringing clatter of horseshoes on solid stone, Derek's horse clattering to a fancy albeit skittish parallel halt.

Which, Stiles didn't even know you could do with horses. He'd only ever seen it done with cars. Still, he yanked Flopsy to as graceful a halt as was capable for an ADHD teenager and his just as jittery horse.

Derek watched the ungraceful halt with a bored expression, before he swung Duke around on his hocks and nudged his stallion to a walk along the rock ledges. This was down as Dead Dogs Drop. Because it was literally an area of just rock. Huge slabs, hills, rises and steeps of rock face with sudden drops in places. Duke knew it well though, and had no trouble clopping along, head down.

Sighing and rubbing a hand through his hair, Derek dropped and knotted his reins, leaning back and letting Duke do his thing. 

"This is Dead Dogs Drop. Rock all around, a minefield of places to break a leg or neck in. The wolves know to stay away from here, but this and the canyon are the hotspots for injuries, missing wolves and the like. Routine checks are done three times a day. One in the morning, one before tea, and one before lock-up. Heat cameras are fixed in random points, so if you see a black rectangular box, don't step on it".

Stiles nodded along, doing his best not to listen to the utterly smooth, silky rough voice and just hear the words being spoken.

"For now, you'll just be doing yard work with the horses, and ride-alongs with me, Laura or Isaac to get to know the reserve, the wolves, and basically how everything works. It'll probably take you the rest of the year to learn everything you need to know, and longer to be trusted to ride out alone".

Stiles tried not to feel insulted, and carried on nodding, trying not to pay attention to how Derek guided his horse with just his legs.

Flopsy was less successful in his navigation, and in the end Stiles gave up and swung him around behind Derek's mount, letting them play follow-the-leader.

"The wolves are pretty tame as a pack, but only two can actually be handled without being sedated. Talia and Carter are the only ones you touch. The rest of the pack are tame enough to get close to, move around with and observe, but not much else". Derek knew he sounded bored, but he sounded like that naturally.

It took four minutes of riding in silence for Stiles to finally blurt out what Derek knew had been bubbling inside his mind for the past ten.

"You have silver eyes".

Derek rolled the eyes in question, huffing gently. "Fantastic observation skills, Sherlock". The sarcasm in his voice was like a guard dogs bite, and Derek just about regretted it as soon as it left his mouth. He was fully aware of his freaky genetic mutation. People questioned his 'freaky contacts' on a daily basis and most never believed him when he said they were real, even after he poked at his own eyes to prove it. ('Inserted lenses', they said.)

Stiles had the good nature to make an amused and embarrassed sound, before the large slabs of rock began to taper out into small pieces, eventually trailing off into a sort of rubble, that thinned further into grass, and Derek nudged Duke into a canter again.

"For the majority of the ride alongs you start off with, you'll either be riding Duke, Sherlock, or Yanksee. Flopsy will be pack-tied to whatever horse I'm riding. Until you are familiar and capable within the reserve and your horse is trained and trusted to my standards, you'll be riding an already capable mount. Horses are a tragic loss, but expendable."

Stiles tried not to think about how blank Derek sounded, and just hummed in agreement. "I heard about the one Danny lost. Twister? Danny was really torn up about it. He works as a bar-tender in Legalize now. You know the gay club in town?", he asked, ignoring his needless chatter, the blank look Derek gave him, and the fact that he was talking about gay clubs with a Greek God just a meter ahead. 

Stiles chatting along happily, not caring, and Derek just raised an eyebrow as they moved into a gallop along the open fields, broken by small ponds of water or thin brookes that led across field to both the large river, and the lake further East. Stiles took it all in, awe rolling off him in chocking, stifling waves that Derek had to breath deep to ignore.

Eventually, they reached the main mountainy-volcano type area (Honestly the only way Derek could explain it. A large, circular field with a fence-like surrounding hill-thing with lots of rock ledges, caves, grassy banks and scattered bones, with a trail breaking through the rock leading towards the more open areas of the reserve) and Derek slowed to a walk as Duke picked his way up the less steep bankings, hopping agily up rocky, flat breaks.

Stiles kept pace rather well for his first time out, though Flopsy did have the annoying habit of stopping at every other crevice to decide where to go next. When they reached the top, the two horses stood side by side, and Stiles looked around. "Not to uh, state the obvious or anything...but we've been here like an hour and I haven't seen a single tail".

Derek rolled his eyes. "It would take you two days and most of both nights at a fast pace to cover the entire reserve. Possibly more, depending on how well you know it." he mumbled, but then tossed his head back slightly, and howled.

And double wow, okay. Stiles almost fell out of the saddle, because Derek sounded like an  _actual wolf._ A scary, macho Alpha one at that. Before Stiles' mouth could run away without it's leash and start making bestiality jokes, because seriously,  _uncool,_ there was a spread out reply of howls, and after a moment, Wolves began popping out of random holes in the grass banks and rock ledges.

Two tiny wolf cubs scrambled and fell over each other, a chestnutty coloured maned wolf with huge ears bounded out from around a tree down below, and a large grey wolf who looked as dopey as Scott did sometimes came tripping out from a rock-cave higher up.

Ten wolves in total. A rather small pack, considering the amount of territory they had, but Stiles guessed it was easier to have a small pack that have to keep tabs on a pack of twenty. Plus, the food bill for a pack of twenty would be insane. It was like $300 per cow now, let alone the three it would probably need for a pack that large. Derek swung his left leg back, and Duke side-stepped neatly until he was closer to Flopsy.

Derek pointed to the gold coloured wolf that had started lounging in the grass below. "That ones Jesse. He's a Beta, and Leo and Luci's father" Derek pointed to the two cubs play fighting around the legs of a sleeping she-wolf. "The cubs are adopted. Their real mother, Cola, died not long after birth. Diana, the russet wolf by the trees, is their adopted mother. Diana is probably the nicest of all these wolves that are untouchable, though she lets you touch her now and then".

Stiles nodded along, watching the pack roaming around below.

"Carter, the multi-coloured one up on the ledge, is the pack Alpha. Joker, the one sleeping next to him, is his brother. They're prone to trying to sheep-dog the horses, but they never do any harm. Carter is one of the ones you can handle without risk of loosing an arm, provided it is not breeding season. In which case, don't touch".

Stiles drank it all in, watching the wolves with delight. "Talia, the chestnut maned wolf is the other one you can touch. She was hand-reared from a cub, so even at her most playful she'd never intentionally hurt you. Harley, the silver wolf, is one of the coolest. Basically a dog with overgrown teeth. Rollo, the one chewing on the tree branch, is the clown of the pack. He's basically the pack's sniffer dog. When we turn a cow loose, he tracks it, and the pack as a whole bar one wolf that stays behind to look after the cubs, kill it".

Stiles winced, thinking of the poor cow, but interested in pack dynamics all the same. It was an organized family. A team.

"Nikkita and Brenton are brother and sister. Brenton is older by five minutes, because Nikkita is a stubborn bitch and decided to stay inside longer. Where one is, the other is too. Luci, Leo and Nikkita are the only Omegas. All other wolves are Betas, bar Carter" Derek explained, watching the wolves with the kind of peacefulness you get listening to a slow running river. It was nice, to see him like that. 

After a while, Derek turned, letting Duke pick his way back down the bank with Flopsy tip-toeing his way along behind, Stiles silent with contemplation. "How long have you been looking after wolves?" he finally asked, and Derek, in a slightly better mood after seeing his 'babies', replied in good nature.

"It's a family business, run from three generations so far. My grandparents, Luciana and Johnathan Hale, started it back in the 1930's. They took on four cubs, the foundations of the Hale pack. Dutchess and Genovia, the Alpha and Beta females, and Jacobian and Altair, the Alpha and Beta males. When they died, my parents, Talia and Jared Hale took over. The preserve was written to be left to my Uncle, Peter Hale if anything happened to my parents. But after the fire, Peter was needed in Canada, for his own personal reasons. By then me and Laura had reached legal age to inherit the reserve, and we've been running it ever since".

As a rule, Derek didn't speak about the past. But he already knew Stiles planned to be here long term, and if he was going to stay, he may as well know the history, as well as the present. Derek slowed Duke to a walk, watching Stiles think, already knowing the next question.

"Isn't Talia the maned wolf?".

Derek nodded a confirmation. "Talia is a direct descendant of Luna, the first maned wolf that was introduced into the Hale reserve. My mother, Talia, brought Luna in as the lone surviving pup of a pack of maned wolves out in Colorado. The pack was illegally stolen, and culled for pelt. They found Luna left in the den. Talia was born from Luna four days after the fire. Luna died in childbirth."

Derek's voice was soft, saddened by memories, and he nudged Duke into a canter, keeping it collected so Flopsy's shorter legs could keep up.

Stiles said nothing, only nodded to show he'd heard, and the two cantered in silence. They crossed back through the fields the way they had come, Derek straying near the fringes of the canyon boundaries, when Derek picked up a strange scent. It was getting close to dusk, and new scents in the reserve were as rare as a four headed horse. Slowing Duke to a halt near the golden rocky outcrop that marked the beginning of the small canyon, Derek turned to Stiles.

"Wait here. Don't move, make as little noise as possible. Use your phone and call Laura if you really need assistance." Yanking the Beretta Taurus 1911 model from his thigh holster, he handed it to Stiles. "Know how to use a gun?". Stiles nodded.

"Good. Don't use it unless you absolutely have to. Don't aim it at the wolf. Either shoot into the sky, at the ground, or at a tree. Don't hit a rock because flying debris can be 50 shades of lethal". Derek didn't sound serious, more like he was teaching Stiles, but Stiles' heart still hitched. What was going on? Why was Derek acting like something bad was going to happen?

Nodding and slipping the gun into his belt, Stiles watched helplessly as Derek wheeled his horse, and cantered off out of sight around the rocks, leaving nothing but dust clouds in his wake. Once the sound of thudding hooves had faded, it was just silence, bar the occasional bird. 

Stiles waited in a semi-tense silence, tapping his right foot in his stirrup, Flopsy dropping his head to snatch at the thin grass around his hooves. After a while, Stiles dug out his phone to check the time. Ten minutes. Derek had been gone ten minutes. In theory, not that long, since the canyon was probably huge, and whatever Derek was apparently looking foor probably wouldn't be right around the corner.

Swallowing both his fear and his pride, Stiles pulled Flopsy's head up and nudged his horse on, turning Flopsy around the rocky patch, and found himself standing at th top of a huge path that lead down, and around, and in fifty different directions, with all kinds of drops and ledges and dead ends. A quiet nicker drew his attention, and Flopsy perked his ears, nostrils flaring. The stallion went to take a step forwards, and Stiles almost halted him, until he realized that Flopsy would lead him straight to Derek.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles dropped the reins, letting Flopsy follow his instincts. Flopsy navigated the winding pathways and large rocky patches with near ease, and when the sounds of shuffling hooves was practically around the next corner, Stiles took the reins again and urged him onwards, letting his horse jog around the corner, where both horse and rider froze, and Stiles uttered a breathless, soft, "Crap".

Derek's horse stood riderless, reins all over the place, one stirrup slung over the saddle, muzzle to the ground, snuffling calmly. The dirt around his hooves was a mess, torn up like there'd been a fight.

But the worst was yet to come.

High up on the canyon ledge, bigger than Derek's horse in both height and muscle, was a huge wolf. Tuxedo black, with eerily bright, abnormally long canines, prowling along, eyes fixed on Derek's horse, muzzle damp with what could only be blood.

Flopsy backed up a step, sending a rock clattering across the dusty ground, and the wolf's head shot up, piercingly bright eyes fixed on Stiles and Fopsy.

" _Crap!_ "


	2. Picture Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since I am shit at describing things, here are a few pictures so you know what everything looks like!
> 
> Credit goes to all original posters of the photos. Images of the Reserve are not complete, and some parts featured in the story do not have a company image.

**Chevrolet -**

**Yanksee -**

**Ithuriel -**

**Novak -**

**Sherlock -**

**Flopsy -**

**Duke -**

**Derek Hale -**

**Derek Hale Wolf Form (a.k.a 'Sourwolf') -**

**The Stables -**

**Derek Hale's Eye Colour -**

**The Tack Room -**

**Jesse  -**

**(Left - Right) Nikkita & Brenton - **

**Carter -**

**Talia -**

**Joker -**

**Harley -**

**Rollo -**

**Diana -**

**The Wolf Cubs (Luci(Left) and Leo(Right) -**

 

 **Dead Dogs Drop -**  < Without the house, obviously.

 **Parts of the Reserve -**


End file.
